


I Think You're My Soulmate

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Related, M/M, Romance, Singing, Soulmates, Victuri Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Snapshots of Soulmate AU Victuuri.





	I Think You're My Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HotaruYuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotaruYuki/gifts).



> Written for HotaruYuki for the Victuri Gift Exchange 2017. Hope this was the kind of thing that you were looking for! 
> 
> I’ve tried to keep it as close to canon as possible whilst incorporating the soulmates element. It keeps switching from one perspective to another, which is weird, and the title's pathetic, but...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas!
> 
> From lady_needless_litany

Yuuri thinks that he might hate his soulmate. Just slightly.

He doesn't remember when he first found out about soulmates, but he does recall, quite clearly, a conversation he had with his mother when he was eight or nine.

He’d burst into tears at school because of the singing — he loved music, but was tone deaf and terribly self-conscious. Not a brilliant combination when you couldn’t help but regularly break into song. He still feels the same, his cheeks flaming whenever it happens, but he’s since rationalised that it’s not his fault, nor his soulmate’s. In fact, he tries to ignore it as much as possible.

But back then, his mother had sat him down, fed him katsudon, and spoken to him very seriously.

“You start singing because your soulmate is singing.”

“But _why_?” That was all Yuuri had wanted to know. _Why_ did his soulmate have to do this to him? It wasn’t _fair!_

“If it wasn’t for the singing, Yuuri, how would you ever know who your soulmate was?” She had that semi-smug look of someone who knew that their argument was infallible.

“I don’t know! But…” he trailed off. They went back to eating, the silence companionable.

“Why would anyone want a soulmate anyway?” He was in that phase that all children go through, where the concept of romance is completely repulsive.

“Your soulmate completes you, in a way. Supposedly. But it’s not necessarily romantic, hm?”

“So...does everyone have a soulmate?”

“It’s hard to know these things, Yuuri. And even if that’s true, a lot of people are never lucky enough to meet their soulmate. That’s why we don’t talk about it very much.”

He fiddled with the bottom of his shirt.

“Are you and Dad soulmates?” he blurts out, embarrassed.

His mother just smiled. “That’s for us to know.”

That exchange had provided some kind of abstract comfort, but hadn’t taken the embarrassment or the childish sense of injustice away. It had taken a solid decade more to do that.

He also remembers being very confused, when he was younger, about the fact that he could suddenly start singing in ten different languages; when he was about thirteen, he started trying to record the words that slipped out of his mouth so that he could learn their meaning. There had been Spanish and Portuguese and Italian and French and German, usually tunes from the latest Eurovision. A lot of Russian, too — that, he guesses, is where his soulmate is actually from.

He’s always hoped to learn Russian, but had never quite found the time to pick up anything more than ‘hello’ and ‘my name is Yuuri’. Which, he supposes, isn't a terrible start.

There’s quite a bit of English as well: Disney, musicals, love songs. It seems that his soulmate is a romantic.

Thankfully, he’s never started warbling involuntarily during anything important or while he was on the ice during a competition and his soulmate has dramatically scaled back on the singing since they were younger. It’s funny, though. He almost misses the near-constant connection. There was something comforting about the knowledge that someone, somewhere, was his.

***

The GPF Banquet, as usual, is loud and messy. The formal dresses and suits are deceiving. The skaters waste no time in taking a rare opportunity to relax and having fun; though they all know each other well, they’re only all in the same room a few times a year. 

Victor is a social butterfly by nature, talking and laughing and charming his way around the room effortlessly, things only getting easier as the champagne loosens inhibitions. Chris, who Victor considers one of his closest friends, is flirting outrageously with everything that moves, even more so than usual. It brings a smile to his face. 

He’s refilling his glass when he notices that there’s a small crowd gathering around where the other male finalists are, a corner that is even more rambunctious than the rest of the room. The atmosphere is friendly, though there seems to be an undercurrent of excitement. He meanders up, wincing slightly at the loudness of a familiar voice. It’s Yuri Plisetsky. Victor doesn't know him particularly well, beyond the fact that they train at the same rink with the same coach. Yuri often seems to be a the periphery of Victor’s training sessions, presumably at Yakov’s command, but they converse only rarely. He’s usually occupied by his phone.

Now, however, he’s adopted a belligerent stance, yelling something about a dance off — Victor can't quite make out all off it. The laughs and chatter of the people around him are too loud. What he does hear is littered with death threats, true to form. The other man is unperturbed, having reached that state of intoxication where one’s thoughts are quite disconnected from reality. But it appears that he’s accepted Yuri’s challenge.

The music starts and all hell lets loose. There are arms and legs everywhere, flying in some sort of chaotic rhythm. The identity of Yuri’s opponent only becomes apparent when Victor properly looks at him.

The Japanese skater, Yuuri Katsuki. It's such a departure from the man’s usual reserved self that Victor can’t help but marvel. Despite the fact that the room is full of world-class skaters, he’s easily got the most natural grace about him, even though his movements are far too organic and spontaneous to be described as ‘controlled’ or ‘sophisticated’. There’s something primally attractive about the sheen of sweat that coats his body, the way that his hair falls into his eyes, the wildness of his expression.

Victor is utterly absorbed. Captivated. Entranced. Filled with a sense of wonderment. He should, probably, be embarrassed that he’s gawping, but he looks on unashamedly.

Then, suddenly, he’s pressed against Victor, clutching his shirt. He finds himself silenced in pure shock as Yuuri mumbles into his shirt:

“If I win this dance off, you'll be my coach, right?”

Victor’s struck dumb. A gasp slips through his lips, a combination of surprise and pleasure. His eyes widen, his cheeks begin to burn. Luckily, the man doesn't seem to expect an answer — he abruptly releases him and turns to face Yuri. Victor would be willing to admit that he doesn't really watch the rest of their dance off (there’ll be more than enough photos tomorrow that that’s hardly an issue) because his mind, suddenly, can't quite compute. Without a shadow of a doubt, he’s instantly besotted.

Then Yuuri pulls away. Victor feels the loss of his warmth acutely, even though the room is now uncomfortably warm.

As disorientated as he is, Victor allows himself to be dragged into it.

What him and Yuuri do is only loosely ‘dancing’. It's hideously uncoordinated and there’s more skin to skin contact than could ever be considered decent. It only gets worse from there, more extravagant and more suggestive. At some point, a pole appears and Yuuri and Chris both lose a large percentage of their clothing. That’s when Victor gives up on any semblance of sobriety.

He manages not to be coerced into any degree of nudity, which is a relief. He’s happy to spectate, though, despite the lingering daze. He finds the whole debacle thoroughly enjoyable, if ridiculous. Besides, he feels that Yuuri thighs deserve aesthetic appreciation.

At some point, and honestly Victor’s not sure whether it’s before, during, or after the pole dancing, Yuuri begins wailing (and, truly, it is wailing — toddlers could carry a tune better drunk Yuuri) something in Japanese. His tie, secured around his head, flops comically from side to side. Chris joins in enthusiastically, lack of Japanese skills notwithstanding. Victor finds himself singing along under his breath. 

He’s not quite sure how his mouth makes the foreign sounds. And he finds that he can’t stop, even when he tries. This doesn’t happen very often, and he’s always assumed it was because his partner was shy. Which is probably the truth.

There is only one rational explanation, his brain eventually tells him. Yuuri Katsuki is his soulmate.

Victor responds to that realisation in a typically Victor way. He finds another bottle of champagne.

***

They all go to bed drunk and wake up with hangovers, but this isn't Victor’s first time around the block. He drags himself out of bed early enough to shove breakfast into his mouth before Yakov starts yelling. Surprisingly, their behaviour last night wasn’t up to scratch (“just you be glad that Lilia wasn’t here!”). The knowledge of his soulmate bubbles inside him, keeping his mood effervescent, much to the disgust of his team mates.

“Really, Victor, must you be so insufferably cheerful?” Mila asks. “Because hitting you is seeming more and more appealing.” Yuri, who she appears to have adopted, concurs, settling for a growl. Its seems that winning the Junior World Championship has made him no more hospitable.

Victor’s still reliving the memories when they leave. On their way out, Victor calls to Yuuri, offering (or is he requesting?) a photo. His face falls when the Japanese skater ignores him — how could his soulmate do that to him? Why? Had he done something to offend him? Was he just embarrassed?

He affixes a smile to his visage for the cameras, but the event stings him internally, leaving him in a mixed state of confusion and hurt.

Yakov lectures them all the way home, as he invariably does. For once, Victor doesn't try to resist, choosing instead to nod and apologise contritely.

He avoids Yuuri for the rest of the season. It’s not difficult, given that Yuuri’s in such a dramatic downward spiral that he spends little time with anyone except his coach, not even making it to all of the competitions he should have qualified for.

Still, there’s a shard of hurt in his heart. He suppresses it, as he always does. He simply stops singing, and it seems that Yuuri has done the same — for different reasons, he suspects. He has no time for emotion, he will not risk derailing his career for this. That is how he has always been and nothing changes now. He’s surprised that no one notices: not the media, not his fans, not even his rink mates. He should be offended, but he’s always been good at deceiving people. He’s an artist, after all, and his art’s as perfect as ever. Why should anyone notice?

It’s months later that Chris sends him a video of Yuuri skating his _Stammi Vicino_ routine. It’s ironic, Victor thinks, that Yuuri picked _his_ routine. He doesn’t want to watch it, for the same reason that he’s kept away from Yuuri. His thumb hovers over the ‘watch’ button for longer than he’d like to admit before he builds the courage to play it.

The song, delicate as ever, is as familiar as his own reflection. The choreography is identical to the paces he’s put himself through for months. But it’s different. And, yes, Yuuri doesn’t have the innate poise and finesse that Victor has, but his performance is captivating. As the last few notes of the song escape from his phone, he feels physically moved, a tear threatening to slip down his cheek.

It’s at that moment that Victor _knows_. This Yuuri...he’s given _Stammi Vicino_ meaning, turned it from a cry of emptiness, of loneliness, into something truly beautiful.

Victor makes his decision there and then.

***

Yuuri quickly realises that Victor’s not good at...people. He should have realised when he’d turned up, naked and unannounced, at the onsen. Yuuri has put him on a pedestal for so long that it's difficult to accept any potential shortcoming. 

But now that he knows him, as a human rather than an icon, Yuuri thinks he’s more enamoured than ever. His flaws complete him. The way that Victor pushes him, inspires him, the affection that he gives so freely… Yuuri’s simultaneous surely that there’s something — some chemistry — between them and convinced that it's a figment of his imagination.

He banishes such thoughts from his mind. He needs to focus on the Cup of China, which is now alarmingly close.

He sings on the way to the rink, through his own volition, he thinks. Ice Castle is comfortingly familiar, from the weathered paint on the walls to the faint smell of plastic. As he enters the building, he can hear the scrape of blades on ice. This early the building’s mostly empty, so it must be Victor. 

His lips are still moving, but he forgets them in light of what he sees before him: Victor, tracing the familiar shapes of _Stammi Vicino_. He must be listening to the music through ear plugs, because the place is almost silent, giving the scene an ethereal atmosphere. He can see Victor whispering the words to himself breathlessly, though it’s not audible from this distance. 

It's then, abruptly, that Yuuri realises what he, himself, is singing:

Partiamo insieme  
Ora sono pronto

As Victor completes the final spin, Yuuri thinks he sees real emotion, anguish, on his face.

That just adds to the hurricane of emotion within Yuuri: confusion, hope, shock, relief, happiness, nervousness, excitement, concern. The only solid thing he can grasp is the one thing that bewilders him most of all: Victor Nikiforov is his soulmate.

He doesn’t know how they’ve never discovered this before...he guesses that it must have all just been lost in the frenetic nature of competitions — even when he kept singing _Stammi Vicino_ , he’d just dismissed it as coincidence. After all, he had reasoned, it would make sense that his soulmate had some connection to skating, right?

Victor doesn't know, Yuuri thinks. He wouldn't be able to keep something as momentous as that secret.

And if Victor didn't know, Yuuri wasn't sure he could bring himself to tell him.

***

Yuuri finishes his free skate with a flourish. His sides ache, his chest heaves. He’s exhausted but euphoric. There's a feeling of pride and satisfaction that he’s not felt for a long time; right now, he could take on the world without a second thought. Applause, then he turns his head, searching for Victor.

He can't see him straight away, but he’s there, running to meet him. Yuuri mirrors him, skating as fast as he can to the edge of the rink.

“I did great, right?” he cries happily.

Victor nods once and Yuuri can sense, even from this distance, how proud he is. How moved he was.

Yuuri’s nearly reached him when Victor moves forward, embracing him. Then Victor’s lips are on his.

His eyes widen and he feels the blood rush to his cheeks. He freezes in shock as their combined weight tips them over.

Yuuri’s shoulders and back sting as they collide with the ice, but that pain is irrelevant.

It’s not Victor’s first kiss, nor Yuuri’s, but there’s something different about it. Something special. Something that make toes curl and stomachs writhe and cheeks redden.

The fall made it clumsy at first, but Victor is a brilliant kisser, Yuuri notices. Not that it would matter if he wasn't, he thought, because he’s so swept away by excitement and surprise.

It’s not a particularly long kiss. They move apart, and Yuuri is aware once more of the roaring of a thousand fans, the flashes of a thousand cameras.

Yuuri looks into Victor’s eyes; he can't read his mind, but his heart radiates through as strongly as a flame. That kiss was Victor trying to tell him a great number of things, he thinks.

“This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me.”

That, Yuuri guesses, is all he’ll get in the way of explanation.

It takes a movement to find the right words. “Is that so?”

A smile curls it's way around Victor’s mouth in response.

Yuuri bites his lip gently, as he always does when he can't decide on something. His lips part, ready to say the words: Victor, I think you’re my soulmate. Some niggling anxiety stays his hand a second too long, and then Victor’s pulling him up and off the ice and the moments is lost.

***

Here, in front this church, on this perfect winter evening, wearing matching rings, it would be so easy to tell him. The words sit on the very tip of his tongue, waiting to fall. Victor pretends it is selflessness, an unwillingness to distract Yuuri from tomorrow's task, rather than fear, that stops him.

Then, at dinner, when the others tease Yuuri about the banquet, another opportunity presents itself. He ignores it, mentally citing the same excuse as before. It’s a lie. He knows it. The thought of alienating Yuuri, which would be all too easy, is unbearable. He wishes that he had some esoteric figure to guide him, as Yuri has his grandfather. He even envies Yuuri and Minako. But Lilia and Yakov are the closest he can get to that, and he can't even begin to imagine bringing this up with either of them.

_I’ll tell him soon. After the GPF. I will. I promise, I swear. He deserves to know._

He’s kept this secret for almost a year, he reasons desperately. A little while longer makes no difference.

***

Their exhibition skate is different. In the past, Victor’s thrown something together a few nights before. This is planned and practiced. The steps echo ones that are achingly familiar, but they're also completely alien. It's poetic; it does justice to their own evolution.

They’ve choreographed it well. It's fluid and elegant and natural. The whole way through, they are touching, for which Victor is glad; he cannot bear to part with Yuuri, not for one single second.

It is at once both human and preternatural, wraithlike but passionate. It's not technically perfect nor a true exhibition of their skills, but for once Victor and Yuuri are performing only for each other. This is, after all, a culmination of months of energy and stolen touches, and it feels like a declaration of love. Perhaps it is.

Their single-minded absorption in one another doesn't matter either; the audience is enraptured all the same.

It ends all too quickly.

There is a moment of silence and the final crescendo fades away, but then the audience are on their feet, cheering loudly enough that their ears ring. They bow, once, twice, the smiles never leaving their faces.

They skate to the edge of the rink hand in hand, only separating to put on their skate guards. They take a few steps away from the barrier, seeking some small measure of secrecy. Yurio is up next, but they have a short period before that to talk: quite individually, they’ve both come to the conclusion that the time is now.

They kiss, still fuelled by the euphoria of the performance. Victor can't stop his hands from wandering, pulling Yuuri closer with one arm around his waist and caressing the nape of his neck with the other.

They’ve enough light to see one another, but the exhibition lighting gives them a thin barrier of shadow for privacy.

Yuuri speaks before Victor can.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, exhilarated and delirious and deliciously in love. “There’s something we should talk about.”

Victor’s stomach drops at that. Words like those, in his experience, are reserved for bad things.

“What is it?” Blue irises search brown ones. Yuuri drops his gaze, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don't know how to say this–” he mentally scrambles, but the words won't come. They’ve never discussed soulmates at all, Yuuri worries — what if they approach things differently in Russia? 

Victor, meanwhile, panics, curses his lack of understanding.

Yuuri soldiers on. “When I was younger – I – I think I realised – well, it took ages, I'm not very observant–”

Victor cups his cheeks, forcing him to make eye contact.

“ _Stammi Vicino._ ” Yuuri swallows. “The lyrics are so apt–”

“ _Oh._ ” The realisation is emphatic.

The adoration, the sheer relief; it feels like a moment that should be accompanied by a thousand violins and a celestial choir — instead, it's just them. And that’s all that matters.

“It’s OK, Yuuri,” he whispers, eyes shining. “I already know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: lady-needless-litany


End file.
